


stay with me (let's just breathe)

by lovebeyondmeasure



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hospitals, I'm Sorry, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Post-Career of Evil, car-crash related injuries are described but not in detail, no graphic descriptions of injuries i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-26 15:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13238952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebeyondmeasure/pseuds/lovebeyondmeasure
Summary: It had been three hours since the call, telling her to come at once to University College London Hospital, as Cormoran Strike was being at that moment wheeled into surgery. She’d gone numb with shock, and had dressed and gone in a daze; when she arrived, she was informed that she was one of Mr. Strike’s emergency contacts, and led to this room, where she’d been since.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindmea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindmea/gifts).



> My darling lindmea asked for [prompt 8: Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.](http://lovebeyondmeasure.tumblr.com/post/169204467594/) Then she asked for "angst or angst-adjacent feels." So here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, I don't know any medical professionals, I did not consult a medical professional, and I do not watch a single medical tv show or Google anything. I just write fic.
> 
> Title from Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe."

Robin sat in the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, methodically chipping her nail polish off to distract herself from the swirl of emotion that had taken up residency in her chest.

Lucy had left for a short time, to take her sons to their grandmother’s house; it was only her there, waiting to hear, desperate to know. Robin could still see Lucy’s face, its frozen, brittle anguish, as she’d left the room. Robin had promised to phone as soon as they knew anything at all.

Flakes of glittering blue fell to the floor around the chair. Robin had hated this manicure, anyway.

It had been three hours since the call, telling her to come at once to University College London Hospital, as Cormoran Strike was being at that moment wheeled into surgery. She’d gone numb with shock, and had dressed and gone in a daze; when she arrived, she was informed that she was one of Mr. Strike’s emergency contacts, and led to this room, where she’d been since.

Lucy had fallen into her arms, her sons indifferent as their mother cried into Robin’s shoulder; the women did not know each other well, but had developed a kind of kinship built on cups of tea and identical expressions of disbelief. There, in the flourescent light of the waiting room, they had found a bewildered shared grief.

The nurse had told them that Strike had been in some sort of automobile accident; the policeman who had come to take his statement had not seemed surprised to hear that Strike was still unconscious and had been rushed to the operating theatre. He’d just nodded and said he’d return the next day.

Robin could not wrap her mind around it; how on earth had Cormoran been struck by a car, in the middle of the night, nearly eleven blocks from his flat? Nothing anyone had said thus far had clarified anything. No one seemed to know.

She was down to the last pinkie nail on her left hand when a nurse came into the room; only Robin was there, it being half-midnight. She bolted upright, tension coiling through her spine. She almost didn’t want the dark-skinned woman to open her mouth; if she said nothing, Strike would be as he’d been, and not- he couldn’t be. 

“Family of Cameron Strike?” the woman asked, her voice brisk but compassionate.

“Ah- it’s Cormoran,” Robin replied.

“Mr. Strike is still unconscious,” the nurse said, “but if you like you can come into his room now. We’ve brought him up to the fifth floor. Follow me please.”

Robin sprang up, grabbing the strap of her oversized handbag, following the nurse up the stairs. She was trying to understand what the woman was saying, but felt as though there was cotton in her head instead of brains.

“...as I’ve said, they believe he should make a full recovery, but we’d like to keep him in for at least a week, as the leg complicates issues. He’s just there, room 527,” she said, pointing.

Robin rushed to the door of the darkened room, and there was Strike, his familiar battered face looking- well, it didn’t bear dwelling on. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beeping of the monitors, and now, finally, Robin allowing the tears she’d been choking on to rise, to fall.

The nurse touched her shoulder gently, guiding her into the room to sit on one of the chairs, this one more comfortable than the last.

“The doctor will come by in about an hour to do a post-op checkup, but otherwise you should be alright. There’s a call button if you or he needs anything. Alright?”

Robin, trying unsuccessfully to wipe her face, nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered. The nurse touched her shoulder once more, a reassuring gesture, before leaving the room.

Robin sat there, not bothering to turn the lights on, and let the sobs heave their way out of her chest. She’d been so sure- the phone call had been brusque, and the voice on the other end of the line had impressed urgency on her- she had thought the worst. She’d made the trip full of awful certainty that she would arrive to him cold, quiet, bloody, gone.

She cried silently, alone now with the sure presence of Strike himself, able to see him breathe, and gave herself permission to believe that he would, in fact, be alive when the sun rose once more.

After a short time, after the worst of the almost-grief had passed, Robin had the presence of mind to message Lucy, telling her that Strike was out of surgery and which room to come up to. Lucy messaged back, saying that she would come again in the morning proper, bringing clothes and food, and did Robin want anything.

Robin hadn’t realized until this offer that she would, in fact, be staying the night, but of course she would. She could hardly leave him there, his familiar face so still, so pale; she would not leave him alone. She asked Lucy if she couldn’t borrow some clothes, thanks, and set her mobile down, then thought to ask for a charger, as well. 

Eventually the doctor came, making notations of Strike’s unchanged vitals. He almost ignored Robin, who had curled up in the chair, grateful she was wearing yoga leggings and a comfortable shirt. For once, she did not want answers to her questions, she did not want details. She only wanted to stay where she could see him, still breathing.

Eventually, as shadows shifted across the floor, Robin heard the heart monitor pick up slightly, and she could see Cormoran’s eyes flickering beneath his eyelids. She hauled herself out of the chair to press the call button.

A nurse, this one Indian she thought, bustled in to check on them. Robin stepped away, letting the petite woman move briskly about the bed. She kept her anxious eyes fixed on Cormoran’s face, its familiar features swollen and bruised.

“Looks like he wants to come out of sedation. He shouldn’t, really,” the nurse said finally. “But if he’s fighting it this hard, better to let him come up, then put him back under. Otherwise we might overdose him.”

“Overdose?” Robin looked shocked.

“Sorry, no, not fatally or anything,” the nurse said quickly. “Just that it would do more harm than good.”

“Ah,” Robin said, tightening her crossed arms. “What should I do if he wakes up?”

“Call one of us, we’ll check him over and dose him again,” he nurse said practically. “And if something seems to go wrong, the monitors will alert us. He’ll be alright, Ms. Strike.”

The nurse was out the door before Robin could react to the assumption that she was…

Just then, with his usual dramatic timing, Cormoran cleared his throat behind her. She whirled to see him blinking blearily, his fingers twitching at the end of his well-wrapped arm.

“Shh, shh shh,” she said, rushing to his side, dropping to kneel beside the bed. He blinked, focusing on her face.

“Rob’n?” he said softly, and once more tears overflowed down her face.

“Yeah, Corm, yeah, I’m here,” she said, reaching out to gently touch his face. He closed his eyes, coughing slightly, wincing when he discovered how much that hurt. The hint of a smile that had found its way onto her face dissolved.

“Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die,” Robin sobbed, leaning down to press her head against the bed next to him. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“‘m sorry,” he rasped. Robin startled to feel the back of his hand slip down the side of her head. “‘m sorry, Robin, don’ cry, please.”

She only cried harder, wrapping his hand in both of her, ignoring the tubes running from it. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry, I just- I really thought- oh my god, Cormoran Strike, I thought you were going to die, and I can’t-”

He coughed once more, and she pulled away, letting his hand fall back to the mattress as she rose. “Do you want water? I’ll call the nurse, they’ll give you some, then they’ll put you back under, you need your rest, my god you nearly _died_ -”

He shook his head, minutely. 

“No?”

He reached for her, the slightest of gestures. 

“What is it, Corm?” She bent back down beside him, sitting gingerly on the side of the mattress.

“Whu’ happen’?” he whispered.

“You were hit by a car, they said,” she whispered, tears clogging her throat. “You’re in hospital, you were in surgery for hours. They said you ought to make about a full recovery, but you’re going to need care and rehab and- oh, Corm, you nearly died,” she said in a rush. 

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, a negative. “‘m alive. I know, ‘cause,” he stopped to breathe, “I hurt. Can’t hurt if you’re not ‘live.”

Robin covered her mouth with one hand. “Just stay that way,” she said, a whisper, a plea. “Don’t- don’t die, alright, Cormoran?”

“Try not to,” he said, eyes still closed, a hint of a smile tugging at his split lip. “Think ‘m- ready to sleep ‘gain.”

“Alright,” Robin said, clutching his hand. “I’ll call a nurse.”

He squeezed her hand tightly. “Stay?”

“What? Of course I’ll stay,” she said, leaning forward to press a wayward curl away from his bruised forehead. 

“Good,” he said, sighing. “Stay.”

Robin reached across his bulk to press the call button, unwilling to move away from him now that she was there. 

The same nurse from before came back in, and immediately upped his dosage until his heartbeat was regular and his face relaxed. His hand slipped from hers softly, but Robin didn’t leave his side, instead watching him sleep.

“All right there, Ms. Strike?” the nurse asked.

“I’m not- he’s not my-” Robin said. “We only work together,” she finished, lamely, unable to look away from him.

“Mmm,” the nurse said, noncommittally. “Right. You ought to get some rest yourself. Is there anyone you can call?”

Lucy would be back in- oh, only a few hours. Otherwise….

“No, we’ll be alright, thanks,” Robin whispered.

She couldn’t stop hearing his voice in her head.

“Stay.”

Of course she would. How could she ever do anything else?


	2. Chapter 2

Robin awoke when a nurse- a new one, this one with red hair pulled back severely and a truly impressive faceful of freckles- turned on the light and came in.

It felt as though her back was a tangle of knots- she’d pulled the chair over at some point, and fallen asleep with her head pillowed on her arm, which laid against the table next to the bed. She had watched Cormoran sleep until his own deep, even breathing had matched hers, and she’d faded out for a few hours.

“It’s just past 5 in the morning,” the nurse said kindly as she glanced over Cormoran’s charts. “If you want a bit if a wash-up, there’s a women’s room at the end of the hall, on your left. I’ll keep an eye on him for a bit.”

Robin, stretching, felt a rush of gratitude for this strange woman, who clearly understood Robin’s impulse to never let Cormoran out of her sight ever again. Secure in the knowledge that if he woke, he wouldn’t be alone, she shuffled down to the washroom.

Her face in the mirror looked about as good as she felt. Scowling, she patted her cheeks with cold water, wishing she had more than mascara and lipstick in her purse. The bags under her eyes were massive, and she was still puffy from the crying. 

She rinsed her mouth with water, and gave up. No one here would care about how she looked, anyway, not with Cormoran laying in bed, looking as he did.

When she returned to the room, feeling a bit fresher, Cormoran was still asleep. The freckled nurse was noting something on a clipboard.

“We’re keeping him under for at least a few more hours, to let him recover from the surgery,” she said. “But he should come conscious again around 10, so the police can have a statement, and he’ll need to eat something. Big man like this needs more than we can put in him through a drip.” The nurse casually patted Cormoran’s leg. His eyebrow twitched.

“How bad is he-” Robin shook her head. Her usual inquisitive nature seemed to have deserted her; she simply did not want to know. “How long will he need to stay here?” she asked instead. “Only he hates being in hospital, and he’ll want to be out as soon as possible.”

The nurse frowned slightly. “Well, hard to say. He’s got damage from where the car hit him in the front, and from the wall in the back, so it’s fairly full-body damage he’s got,” she said. “Depends on what sort of care he’ll have when he leaves, really. He certainly can’t be alone for at least three weeks, possibly a month, until his legs and back heal up some. If he’s got someone at home, he could leave in- well, a week, perhaps. Have to see what the doc says.”

Robin sighed. A week in hospital would be torture for Cormoran. 

“Ring if he stirs, and the doc should be making rounds in the next hour. Otherwise, feel free to sleep more, if you can. You look like you need it.”

Robin looked at the nurse’s back as she flipped off the light and left, deciding to take that as a statement of fact rather than as anything mean-spirited. Resuming her watch from the chair, Robin reached out to brush Cormoran’s unruly hair away from his face. It had grown longer, recently, and the wild curls had asserted themselves with a vengeance. She found it… oddly endearing.

Before she slept, Robin texted Lucy with an update and asked if she wouldn’t mind bringing a toothbrush with the clothing. She was out before the reply arrived.

This nap was even shorter than the one before; less than two hours later, the doctor came in to check on Cormoran. Robin startled awake, but relaxed as soon as she saw that everything was as before; Cormoran still asleep, the monitors running evenly.

“Are you his wife?” the doctor asked as he lifted the clipboard. Robin had to stop herself from having a reaction that would seem- well, from any reaction at all.

“Oh, no,” Robin said. The doctor stepped on the rest of her reply.

“Sister, then?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just- I’m his, ah. Business partner.”

The doctor, an older man with richly golden skin and a truly impressive mustache, looked over the clipboard to give her an appraising look. 

“A good friend you must be, then.” He set the clipboard down and moved to bare Cormoran’s body to check him over, and Robin quickly averted her eyes; she could not bear to see his injuries, and more, Cormoran was so fiercely protective of his privacy. She couldn’t imagine taking advantage of his state to violate such an important principle.

Staring fixedly at the monitors, watching the green blips of light, the reassuring steadiness of his blood pressure, Robin listened to the doctor mutter to himself.

“It seems the surgery was successful, although I’ll need scans to make sure. His lungs sound clear, which is a very good sign. Ah, nurse, help me roll him onto his side, if you please.”

The freckled nurse had reappeared and came past Robin. She could hear the doctor’s tone change.

“I want that checked out immediately. Call for Nkosi, he should be able to do it.”

The nurse rushed back out again. Robin waited until she heard the sheets rustling before turn back around.

“What’s wrong? Is he going to be alright?”

“Your- ah, partner, he seems to have more bruising than he ought, that’s all,” the doctor said, obviously reassuring. “I want to make sure there’s no internal bleeding that was missed, but it shouldn’t be anything major, Ms..?”

“Ellacott, Robin Ellacott,” she replied, looking at Cormoran. He had seemed so peaceful…. “If it is internal bleeding, though?”

“Then we might have to go back in to close it off,” the doctor said apologetically. “He might have to stay a bit longer, but nothing more serious than that, I assure you.”

“Mm,” Robin said. “Thank you, doctor.”

“No more than my duty, Ms Ellacott,” the doctor said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later.”

With a nod, the doctor left, and she could hear him having a rapid discussion in the hall. She looked at Cormoran’s sleeping face, and hoped that- hoped he would- she hoped, that’s all. 

When they wheeled Cormoran away, the freckled nurse- finally Robin noticed her name tag, which read “Ealga,” which provided little hint on what to actually call her- told Robin, again, to stay put.

“We’ll have him back soon,” she swore as the squeaky wheels of the trolley-bed grew fainter down the hall.

“Alright,” Robin said. She settled back into what had become her chair to wait for his return.

At half eight Lucy arrived, blessedly alone this time.

“I’ve left the boys with their father, he’s capable of babysitting for a few hours at least,” she said as she extended her arms to Robin. The women fell together, both seeking reassurance.

“I’ve brought some comfy slacks and a top, and- well, I wasn’t sure of your size, but I’ve packed some absolutely clean knickers and a sports bra as well, if you’d like,” Lucy said quietly. “I know you’ve been here all night, you can’t know what that’s meant to me. It’s rather a relief to know someone else cares what happens to this terrible sib of mine.”

“Thanks ever so much,” Robin whispered into the space between them. Lucy had her hands wrapped around the tops of Robin’s arms, and was looking her carefully in the face.

“You’ve barely slept, I can see it,” Lucy replied. “I could hardly close my eyes myself, until Greg got me to take half a percocet, then I went out like a light. Here, go change, you’ll feel loads better, then come back and tell me everything.”

Robin allowed herself to be handed a gym bag and ushered out of the room, and she went back to the bathroom she’d used before. The knickers were a bit snug, but they were clean, and the bra was a better fit than she’d expected. In the bag was also a brand-new toothbrush and travel-size toothpaste, along with a travel-size deodorant and a tiny bottle of lotion, the type one receives in hotels.

Seeing all this, Robin felt a surge of affection for Lucy, whom she didn’t really know all that well, but who seemed determined to mother everyone she met. Using the toiletries, Robin felt nearly human again, more like herself and less like an automaton who could only think, over and over, _”he’s alive, he’s alive, thank you Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’s alive, please keep him that way, please God, keep him alive, alive, alive, he’s alive…”_

Once more dressed and eminently more ready to face the day, Robin shoved her clothing into the bag and went back to the room. Lucy had settled into Robin’s chair, but rose immediately.

“I forgot to ask- where have they taken him?”

“The doctor needed to run some tests, something about internal bleeding-” she reached out to pat Lucy’s arm soothingly. “They said even if something was wrong, they could fix it. Why’ve you come so early?” asked, grasping for a way to distract the other woman. 

As Lucy began a rambling account of her morning, Robin understood why Cormoran would avoid his sister sometimes; she was highly strung, and that wasn’t something Cormoran handled well.

A tangent about her mother-in-law was cut short when Cormoran was wheeled back in, still unconscious.

“How is he?” Lucy asked immediately. The doctor had returned as well, and ignored the two women in favor of supervising the rearranging of Strike onto the hospital bed. Once the orderlies had left, he turned to them.

“The good news is that there’s no serious internal bleeding,” he said, looking at Robin. “The bad news is that, due to the extensive bruising, he’s not going to be able to comfortably lay on his back, and laying on his front is going to be painful as well, so we’d like to keep him here longer.”

“He’s not going to want to stay,” Lucy said confidently. “He’s going to try to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” the doctor replied, mustache twitching. “Nevertheless, we’d prefer he stay here if at all possible.”

“We’ll see about that,” Robin said, rubbing Lucy’s shoulders. The shorter woman leaned into the touch. “This is Lucy, she’s his sister,” Robin added, for the doctor’s benefit.

“Half-sister,” Lucy added absently. “Why we don’t look anything alike.”

The doctor smiled. “Your Mr. Strike should be coming out of sedation around 11. Feel free to leave and return around then, if you wish.”

He bowed slightly as he left the room. Robin felt the ghost of a smile cross her face at his courtesy.

“Not for at least an hour and a half!” Lucy said. “Well! We should see about getting another chair brought in, and you must be famished. Would you like to go get something to eat? They have a decent canteen here, I’ve heard, my friend came here when she was giving birth and-”

Robin let Lucy’s chatter wash over her.

“I think I’m going to nap, if that’s all right,” she said around a yawn. “I’m sure you can arrange for another chair, yeah?”

“Of course, dear, you look terribly tired,” Lucy said, and really Robin knew she looked awful, but didn’t need to hear it from everyone else as well. “I’ll get us some food, as well, and wake you when he comes round.”

“Thanks, Lucy,” Robin said, folding herself back into her chair, where she could see Cormoran’s battered face easily. “You’re a pal.”

Robin, as she allowed her heavy eyes to fall shut, reached out to lay a hand on the bed, pinky just brushing against Cormoran’s.

This time, when she was awakened, it was because Cormoran had taken her hand in his, and was smiling faintly at her.

"Hullo," she said, after a moment.

"'lo," he said, barely more than a whisper. "You stayed."

"Oh, Cormoran," she said, fingers gripping his convulsively. "Of course I stayed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is, you may have guessed, much more to come. I intended for this to be a oneshot, but with some egging from some wonderful ladies, it's.... mmm.... spiraled. Me? Writing more than I planned? How could this be.
> 
> Stay tuned, my friends.


	3. Chapter 3

They were alone in the room, she realized in a moment. There was a second chair, so-

“I think Lucy’s gone for food,” she said, and in response Strike’s stomach rumbled audibly. He grimaced slightly, and Robin felt a laugh bubbling up in her, the first real enjoyable emotion she’d had in- had it only been less than a day? It was only 12 hours ago, if that, that she’d gotten the phone call. It felt as though a week had passed.

“How long have you been awake?” Robin asked, searching his face for signs of pain, her thumb absently rubbing his hand.

“Few min’ts,” he rasped out. “Water?”

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, taking the cup with a straw that was clearly for his use. He managed to get down a bit, then she pulled away as he coughed.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuuuck, fuck fuck.”

Now the laughter escaped, just a little, and Robin covered her mouth with her free hand as Cormoran narrowed his eyes at her- one had developed a truly incredible shiner, and this somehow only made me laugh harder- until she was really, honestly laughing. It had a tinge of hysteria to it, but it was mostly fueled by relief.

“Wha’s so funny?” he asked, tone low but eyes fond.

“I’m just- I’m so happy you’re alive,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “And you’re here, and you’re you-”

“‘Course I’m me,” he said, and she smiled at him.

“Well, yes, but you weren’t you when you were unconscious, now, were you?”

His expression cleared. Behind her, Lucy came back in the room, carrying a tray.

“I’ve got sandwiches, I wasn’t sure what you liked so- Stick! You’re awake!”

Robin dropped Cormoran’s hand quickly, moving out of the way so that Lucy’s dark head could move past her to embrace her brother.

“Jesus Christ, Stick, don’t go scaring me like that,” she scolded into his shoulder. He gingerly moved his arm so he could pat her on the back, looking nervously at Robin.

Lucy didn’t seem to be hurting him, only discomfiting him, so Robin left him to his own devices and went to pluck a sandwich off the tray; the combination of exhaustion and relief was making her lightheaded, and she was aware she hadn’t eaten anything in about 10 hours.

She settled back down, nibbling on a fairly inoffensive ham and cheese, which she removed the limp tomato slice from. Lucy had gone from relief to reassurances very quickly, only from the look on Cormoran’s face they weren’t necessarily what he wanted to hear. Surreptitiously, Robin hit the call button.

“And between my family sick leave and Greg’s, and his mother, I’m sure we could take care of you as long as you need,” Lucy was saying as the freckled nurse and the doctor returned.

“Ah, Mr. Strick, you’re awake,” the doctor said cheerfully. 

“It’s Strike, actually,” Lucy said.

“My apologies, Mr. Strike. How are you feeling?”

Cormoran seemed bewildered by all the motion suddenly occurring around him, his eyes tracking all over the room. Robin hid her face in her sandwich and stayed quiet.

“‘m not dead,” he managed. “Should hurt more.”

“Yes, Mr. Strike, that would be the drugs working,” the nurse said kindly. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

He looked at her blankly. She moved on as the doctor gently ushered Lucy out of the way so he could begin checking Strike over.

“How about the date, then, Mr. Strike?”

“It’s Apr’l ten, yeah?”

“Well, it’s the eleventh now, but yes, good. What’s your middle name?”

“Blue,” he admitted.

“Really? Yeah, alright,” the nurse said, scanning the clipboard. “Can you tell me what you had for lunch yesterday?”

“Uh,” Cormoran said. Robin bit down hard on the answer. “Leftover Chinese, yeah? Fried rice, ah,” he sucked in a breath, “general tso’s?”

The nurse nodded; Robin could not help but interject at this point.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said, swallowing her sandwich. “He’s remembering right.”

“That’s good, then,” the nurse said. “Well, you were only mildly concussed, which was as close to a miracle as any I’ve ever seen.”

“Good,” he said, wincing as the doctor probed his side. “That necessr’y?”

“Yes, Mr. Strike,” the doctor replied. “You’re fortunate it’s not worse.”

“How could it,” he said slowly, “be worse? How bad is it?”

Robin was startled when Lucy’s hand reached out to gently pat her hand, and realized she’d been biting at her thumb nail. 

“Do you remember how you were injured?”

“No,” he answered shortly. “Ah, auto accident?”

“Yes, you were struck head-on, though the vehicle wasn’t going very fast at that point, which saved your life,” the doctor said in a calm, conversational tone. “At which point your back hit a brick wall, and how you managed to not crack your head open is beyond me-”

“Was in army,” Cormoran said.

“Ah, that old muscle memory, then. That saved your life as well, it seems.” The doctor nodded, a mystery resolved. “You have more cracked ribs than whole ones, and although the surgeon managed to patch up your internal organs rather handily, there’s still quite a bit of damage. You’ve bruised about all of your body that is possible to bruise, and your leg is- well. Your leg is going to be the longest in healing.”

The doctor seemed to have cut himself off because he’d caught sight of Lucy, whose eyes were huge and welling up with tears. 

“How long?” Cormoran asked.

“What?”

“How long,” he said again, “in hospital?”

“You’ve been here just over, ah 16 hours now, Mr. Strike,” the doctor replied.

The nurse, glancing at Robin, asked, “Do you mean how long do you need to stay here, Mr. Strike?”

He nodded slightly and looked grateful. 

“At least a week, perhaps two,” the doctor said, businesslike. “It depends on a multitude of factors.”

“Don’ wanna stay,” Cormoran said.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir, but you really don’t have a choice in the matter,” the doctor said kindly, patting Cormoran’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to let Ealga get on with her examination of you, and go consult a few of the other doctor’s who’ve had a look at you, and I’ll come back in a bit with a better picture of your treatment, alright?”

Cormoran nodded, and the doctor left, once more nodding to Lucy and Robin. Robin noted the pronunciation of the nurse’s name- El-ga, poor thing- and finished her sandwich.

Cormoran was uncharacteristically quiet as the nurse poked and prodded him, making notes as she went. He opened his mouth, lifted his arms, looked into the light, all without complaint.

Robin managed to get Lucy to sit and eat one of the sandwiches while they waited. The room had an almost tense silence, the expectant sort.

“Well,” Ealga the nurse said finally. “You’re in as fine a shape as anyone could hope, considering. Call if you need anything.”

“Food?” Cormoran said hopefully. The nurse gave him a real smile.

“Yeah, that can be arranged. But you’re on an invalid’s diet, I’m afraid. I can show one of your ladies where to get it, if you’d like.”

Lucy sprang up immediately, setting down her sandwich. “I’ll go,” she said, and followed the nurse from the room.

Robin found herself staring at Cormoran once more, but it was markedly more awkward when he was awake to see her doing so.

“You stayed,” he said into the sudden stillness of the room. 

Robin smiled at him. He couldn’t seem to get past this. “Yeah, Corm, of course I stayed,” she said. 

“Why’d you come?” He looked genuinely confused on that point.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, because you’re-” _dear to me,_ she wanted to say, suddenly. She didn’t want to dance around this anymore, it had been months and months of that, and he’d nearly died, and- “Because I’m one of your emergency contacts,” she said instead. “I didn’t know you’d done that.”

“Yeah,” he said, embarrassed. “Well. So you could,” he coughed, “come in if you needed.” He coughed again. “So you’d be on the list.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, reaching out a hand to place it on his arm. “It means a lot, really it does.”

“I come with food!” Lucy said, reentering the room. “They gave me soup, jelly, and yogurt!”

The look Cormoran gave Robin was pitiful, really. She patted his arm and laughed.

“I’ll see if I can’t sneak in some real food,” she whispered, and was gratified by a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To reiterate: I have zero (0) medical knowledge. But my lovely enabler lindmea has done some medical research for me, that blessing, so next chapter: a full diagnosis, prognosis, and forward motion in the plot! Full speed ahead, my lovelies!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more: not a doctor, don't know a doctor, don't watch fake doctors on tv, etc. Mistakes are entirely my own.

Lucy had insisted that Cormoran “shouldn’t strain himself” to eat, and so was spooning soup into his mouth for him. Robin was deeply focused on not laughing hysterically at the look on Cormoran’s face; he was as darkly thunderous as a stormcloud. There were drips of soup clinging to his beard, as well.

When the doctor returned- and Robin knew she should really learn his name, but the dratted man wasn’t wearing a name badge that she could see- he brought with him two younger men and a woman, none of whom looked old enough to be proper colleagues. Robin would say they were about her age, in fact, and one of them had brightened up when he laid eyes on her. This struck Robin as ridiculous; she knew how she looked, and it wasn’t attractive.

“Mr. Strike, ladies, may I present a few of the fine doctors in training who have been part of your treatment this far,” the doctor intoned. Cormoran licked his lips, roughly ignoring Lucy’s proffered spoonful in favor of struggling to sit more upright.

“Please, Mr. Strike,” one of the men said, rushing over to him. “Don’t strain yourself; it’ll put more pressure on your ribs. Here, if you just toggle this switch-” and the upper half bed began to rise, propping Cormoran further upright. Lucy looked put out that she hadn’t known this before.

“We don’t have a lot of time all together, but we’d like to go over your injuries and treatment options as soon as possible,” the young woman said briskly. “How clear-headed do you feel at this moment, Mr. Strike?”

“Ah-” he hesitated. “Not my usual self.”

The young doctor nodded. “Fair enough. Would you say you’re clear enough to make medical decisions?”

“Yeah,” Cormoran said, and Robin recognized the way his jaw clenched stubbornly.

“Good. Well, Mr. Strike, you’re shockingly unscathed, considering the reports of how your received your injuries,” she said. “My colleague here, Dr. Gillespie, performed the bulk of your operation.”

The young man who had given Robin the up-and-down stepped forward. “You had some internal bleeding, and multiple cracked ribs, as well as minor spleen damage and some fairly major liver damage.”

Cormoran looked intensely worried, now, and interrupted. “Major liver damage?”

“That’s what took longest to fix, but it should heal right on its own now, and I expect a full recovery on that front,” the doctor said smoothly. “Your left lung was also partially collapsed, but that’s not as dangerous as it sounds, I promise you.”

Lucy, who had been clutching the spoon tightly, broke in now as well. “Lung damage- his smoking can’t have helped that,” she said, giving her half-brother a narrow glance.

“Ah, no,” the doctor said. “And I can’t recommend you smoking for a while yet, until it’s back at full capacity. But we’ll provide nicotine patches until it heals, and you can decide whether to resume your habit in the future.”

Cormoran and Lucy exchanged heavy looks; this was clearly a previous bone of contention. Robin carefully kept her face neutral and tried very hard to not think about how close Cormoran had come to dying.

The other doctor, still beside Cormoran’s bed, now began speaking. 

“In addition, Mr. Strike, there’s the matter of your leg.”

“Yeah- I can’t feel the bloody things,” Cormoran said gruffly. “I figured someone woulda said if I were paralyzed, so that’s not happening, yeah?”

Robin found her hands covering her mouth; the idea of Cormoran Strike in a wheelchair was horrific.

“Absolutely right,” the doctor said, patting his shoulder. “Although you can simply ask about these things. We’ve got your legs completely numbed at the moment. There was a, hmm, complication. With your prosthetic.”

“What’s happened?” Cormoran asked, and now Robin could see his anxiety, his fear. She wished this were all a dream, but no.

“When you were struck,” the doctor said, “the straps of your prosthetic cut into your leg, rather badly. You haven’t lost any more of it, but it’s in bad shape. In addition, the other leg was hit, and you’ve fractured three of your metatarsals as well as all your toes.”

“A gimp twice over,” Cormoran said, dazed and angry. 

“Your foot should heal fine, as long as you stay off it, and your other leg will be able to handle a new prosthetic again in six to eight weeks.”

Six to eight weeks immobile? Robin could feel shock freezing her up, could see the blood draining from Cormoran’s face.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Strike,” their doctor, the older one with the mustache, said as he came forward. “I know this must sound like a death sentence to you. But I assure you, myself and everyone on my team is going to ensure you return to the peak of health as quickly as possible.”

The trio of younger doctors assented vigorously. Lucy looked shaken. Cormoran had simply… shut down, closed himself off. Robin wanted desperately to go over to him, to reassure him that this was only temporary, that they would get through this. But she didn’t dare; he would hate to be seen as weak, even in a moment such as this. Especially in a moment like this one.

So she sat quietly in Lucy’s chair, watching as the doctors filed out, delivering their best wishes and reassurances that they would return. Watching as Cormoran talked quietly with the doctor, sharply leaving Lucy out of the conversation, until Cormoran’s breath began to give out and his eyelids hung heavy. As the doctor encouraged him to get some rest, and gave him a dosage of morphine to ensure he did.

“He’s going to go mad,” Lucy said softly, after the doctor left the room once more. She and Robin had been watching Cormoran sleep in a kind of stunned silence, at last understanding fully- at least to an extent- how deeply he was injured, how close he had come to death.

“What?” Robin asked. She’d been replaying in her mind the list of injuries the doctors had mentioned, memorizing them for later internet searches: cracked ribs, collapsed lung (but only one), minor spleen damage, major liver damage, a body as bruised as humanly possible, three fractured metatarsals, and the leg damage, currently unspecified but bad, bad, bad. 

“He’s going to absolutely mad in here,” Lucy said again. “He hates being in hospital.”

“I know,” Robin said. “He’s told me doesn’t like being in them.”

“No, I mean,” Lucy said, staring at her half-brother’s face, “after he lost his leg, he was- it was bad. Very bad, for him. And now he’s back, and his leg’s all smashed up all over again, and he’s going to… He’ll go spare.”

“Oh,” Robin said. “Oh.”

“I’ll bring him home as soon as the doctors let me,” Lucy said, her voice nervous and thin. “I won’t let him stay here.”

An idea had been percolating in Robin’s mind over the past few hours, ever since Lucy had first confidently declared she’d bring Strike home. Robin knew that while Strike loved his sister, he was not fond of her home or the men who inhabited it; she also knew that Lucy would, with all the world’s best intentions, smother him with care.

“You know, Lucy,” she said carefully. “I was thinking. Mightn’t it be easier if I took him home?”

Lucy’s gaze cut sharply to Robin. “Is that how it is, then? He’s always denied it, but you know, you do have good chemistry.”

“No! No, Lucy, my god, no,” Robin said, then thought she might be protesting too much, then gave up. Lucy was, in her own way, as stubborn and certain as Cormoran; there would be no convincing her now. Robin sighed. “No, I only meant that, since my job is with him, I’ll be rather at loose ends while he’s recovering, and I know you work very hard-” at what, Robin hadn’t the foggiest, but she’d heard enough from Strike to know that Lucy was over overstressed and definitely underpaid.

Lucy was nodding slightly, which was a good sign. Robin went on. “So seeing as how you’ve already got such a lot going on at home, what with your boys, and your work, and I’ll have free time as there’s no one in my sublet at the moment, I could take him easily. I’d appreciate any help you could give,” she added in a stroke of brilliance. “I know you know him better than I do.” Possibly a lie, but for a good cause.

“You know,” Lucy said slowly. “You may have a point.” Robin could see the war between what Lucy perceived as her duty to family and her- well, her good sense, really. “I wouldn’t like to impose…”

“No, of course not,” Robin said quickly. “Only I know that you’re very busy, and so’s Greg, I’m sure, and Cormoran’ll need lots of quiet and rest, and I’ve got three brothers of my own, I know how impossible a pack of boys can be.”

Lucy was nodding, now, and Robin sent up a quick prayer to anyone listening that she’d stay convinced. Robin knew that if she let Lucy take him to her home, Cormoran would go mad, or possibly commit a murder. Most likely Greg’s. 

“We’ll have to see what Stick thinks,” Lucy said, more firmly. “Once he wakes up, we can ask him what he wants to do. He’s a grown man, after all.”

Robin was secretly pleased by this; Lucy didn’t always take such a tack with regards to her wayward brother.

“You’re absolutely right, of course,” she said, punctuated by a yawn. 

“You poor dear, you’ve slept in a chair all night!” Lucy exclaimed. “Would you like to go home for a rest-up?”

Robin looked at Cormoran’s sleeping form; she knew, in her head, that he would be fine here without her, that in fact he was receiving the best of care, but in her heart she could only hear his voice, over and over again: “You stayed.”

“My flat’s in Bromley,” she said instead. “Bit far for a kip. I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Well,” Lucy said, “you could come to my house, if you like? No, the boys are home, it’s the week-end. I know!”

Robin’s eyebrows went up as Lucy said, “I’ve got a spare key to Stick’s apartment somewhere, and that’s hardly far at all from here. Why don’t we both go there, and I can bring him some clothes and his toothbrush and all, and you have have a bit of a lie-down? I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but better than a chair.”

Robin smiled at the other woman. She'd be within twenty blocks, easily able to return in a flash. “You’re brilliant,” she said, and Lucy gave her a smile back. “And I’d forgotten, but I’ve got a change or two of clothes in the office, so that would be helpful as well.”

“Well then!” Lucy said. “Let’s be off, the doctor told me that Corm’ll be asleep for most of the rest of the day, he expects, so we won’t be missing anything here.”

And Robin, who knew herself to be no slouch, found herself caught up in the whirlwind that was Lucy Strike with her a goal in mind. She had only enough time to pen a hasty note, leaving it beside his bed, before she was whisked away. 

Not even half an hour later, they were standing in the tiny flat above the office, and Lucy surveyed the space, her lips in a moue of distaste.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest,” she said, “and I’ll see if there’s any clean clothes left in the drawers.”

And Robin, despite her best intentions to help Lucy clean and rearrange Cormoran’s flat to prevent his sister from wreaking too much havoc, found herself laying down in Cormoran’s bed, yawning; it had been, after all, a very long day, and it hadn’t been 24 hours yet.

“I’ll just-” she said softly, as she closed her eyes. Finally, blessedly horizontal, surrounded by the familiar, comforting scent of Cormoran Strike, Robin relaxed, and slipped easily into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where this is going, but I don't know how long it'll take me to get there. Thanks for coming on this journey with me!


	5. Chapter 5

Robin came awake to find the light in the room had completely shifted; after some groping about, her phone informed her she’d been asleep for nearly seven hours.

Robin say bolt upright, tangled in Strike’s sheets. There was a post-it attached to the back of her phone case. It was clearly from Lucy, and read: _Couldn’t bear to wake you. Call me & we’ll coordinate._

Stretching, Robin hauled herself from the comfort of the bed and felt, suddenly, very embarrassed. How strange it was to fall asleep in Cormoran’s bed! The fact that he was not there helped not at all; it felt like an odd violation of his private space. Whatever had she been thinking?

Quickly, Robin gathered her things and left, locking the door behind her with the spare key she found hanging on a hook in the kitchen area. She attached it next to the office key on her keyring; Strike certainly wouldn’t be returning to his flat any time soon, and this way she’d be able to fetch things for him. At least, that’s what she told herself; it didn’t hurt, either, that his flat really was much more convenient to the hospital and that she didn’t want to be too far from him at the moment.

 _There’s nothing odd about it,_ she told herself as she unlocked the office. _It’s perfectly normal to be worried about your partner and friend after he nearly dies, after all._ She did not think about returning to his bed, which smelled so comfortingly of him; she did not think about many things.

Going into the office, Robin was nearly disoriented by how utterly normal it was. It felt as though this space, this shared space that had become the center of her world, should reflect the total disaster of the past 24 hours. But it was just as she’d left it, rinsed mugs in the drainer, a stack of files on her desk awaiting review, a neat row of post-its adorning her monitor.

It was Monday. It didn’t feel like Monday, it felt like a nightmare she’d yet to awaken from, but it was Monday. Robin grabbed the small bag of clothes she kept in the office. It had been useful when she needed to change her look midday, or when she needed to go somewhere that officewear would stick out. (Once or twice, she’d also stayed in the office overnight; neither she nor Strike ever mentioned this. But her flat was far away, after all.)

She changed swiftly in Strike’s office, the door closed and shades drawn, and it only increased her feeling of unbalance. Never would she had thought to be disrobing in his space, but “never” seemed to have come early.

Robin had deeply appreciated the borrowed clothing, but once more dressed in her own clothes, she felt more like herself. She folded up the lent garments to be washed and returned, and then, slowly, walked over to Strike’s desk.

For a man who prized organization, his desk was impressively messy. Robin was used to this, though; she quickly sorted the papers into their proper files, returned the pens to their cup, and took the three post-its that she herself had left for him. Stacking it all up, she took her bag and left. Being there without Strike felt… wrong.

It all felt wrong. Robin sat at her own desk, in her own clothes, and felt a wave of emotion overtaking her. She groped desperately for the box of tissues she kept for clients as, once more, she dissolved into tears. 

None of this should be happening. It was Monday; she’d been meant to do research on two prospective clients, and he’d been meant to- fuck, shit, he’d been meant to call and finalize their findings about that awful man who always wore gold ties.

Faced with something to do, Robin roughly pulled herself together, wiping her face and straightening up. She would take care of their business, pull her own weight, so that when Strike returned- and of course he would return, she thought firmly- he would be impressed by how well she’d managed.

With this goal fixed clearly in her mind, Robin dealt with the ephemera of the business, making phone calls and sending emails, processing the billing for a pleased client. It wasn’t until the sun was nearly set that she realized how late it was.

“Blimey, I slept the whole day away, didn’t I?” she said to herself, packing things away. Looking at her mobile for the first time in nearly three hours, she saw Lucy’s note once more. “Oh, bugger,” she swore. 

The line rang twice before Lucy picked up. “You really did need to sleep, didn’t you?” Lucy said, by way of greeting. 

“No- well, yes,” Robin said. “I came into the office when I woke up, and I’ve been working so that things don’t fall apart here, I’m terribly sorry.”

Lucy laughed, just softly. “That’s smart. You’re a smart girl, Robin, good job.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Robin said. “Listen, how’s Strike? I’ve been away all day, he hasn’t-”

“He’s fine,” Lucy said. “The policeman came back for his statement a few hours ago, then they took him off for some more tests and such, but otherwise nothing exciting happened here.”

“So he’s been awake, then?” Robin asked, unable to think of how to phrase her real question.

“Yes, and he was asking for you,” Lucy said, as if she knew what Robin was really after. “I told him you’d gone off to sleep, and do you know, he said, ‘all the way to Bromley? That’s not like her,’ so I told him that actually I’d left you asleep in his bed, and do you know what he did?”

“No, what?” Robin wished Lucy hadn’t told; how strange he must have thought she was.

“He just said ‘good,’ and nodded, you know, in that way of his, and asked me to ask you to bring the, and I quote, ‘bloody great stack of books under the window’ because he said he’s finally got time to read them. Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Robin said, a smile twisting its way onto her mouth. “Yeah, he’s a funny bloke, isn’t he.”

“Well the policeman didn’t appreciate his attitude, I can tell you, they went on and on...” Robin tuned carefully out of Lucy’s chatter, letting the other woman go on as she closed up the office. She turned off her monitor, left a few new sticky notes for next time, and gathered her things.

Lucy had moved on to describing Strike’s reaction to the diet by the time Robin was ready to go. “And do you know, he said he actually likes jelly? Makes me wonder, it does, he’s never liked it before, maybe he hit his head harder-”

“Listen, Lucy,” Robin interrupted. “I was thinking I’d come stay with him overnight again, since I’ve slept all day anyway. You can go home, if you like, and I’ll be in soon.”

“Oh, thanks, Robin, you’re a peach,” Lucy said. “I know he spends a lot of time asleep, the doctors say it’s good for his healing, but I don’t like to leave him alone-”

“I understand,” Robin said. “I’m just heading over now, if you want to go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lucy said. “Make sure you get some rest, though, all right?”

“Yes, Mum,” Robin teased.

“I’m sorry, I know- I can’t help it!” Lucy said. “Ta, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Robin said, and Lucy hung up. Robin sighed.

She found the books Strike wanted immediately, and tucked three of them into her handbag. She could always bring more later. The handbag, one of the spares she kept in the office, was extremely spacious and the books fit in with her usual pocketbook items, a change of clothes, and the toiletries Lucy had brought, with some room to spare.

In the long slow twilight of April, Robin took the opportunity to be outside, and walked back to the hospital, inhaling deeply of the un-recycled air. She stopped to get dinner from a food cart, and remembered her promise to Cormoran.

She came in to the hospital and, by looking purposeful and nodding to anyone she made eye contact with, went straight up to room 527 without being stopped.

Cormoran was awake, and turned to see her, and Robin was deeply gratified by the smile that bloomed on his face when she walked in.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice soft and pleased. Robin had to remind herself that he was on a load of drugs, and probably desperate for company, but it was nice, all the same, to be so obviously welcome.

“I brought you something,” she said, setting her styrofoam container on the table as she shrugged out of her coat. “Are you hungry?”

“Always,” he said, and he looked so disgruntled that she had to laugh. “I know the diet they’ve got me on is good for me and all, and they’ve added more solid foods today, but I’d kill for a shawarma or a kebab.”

“Well,” Robin said, pulling her chair back closer to his bed. “I don’t have those, but I do have this.” She opened the box to reveal a heaping mound of hummus.

“Is this from that man with the cart- oh, blimey, ah,” Cormoran said, staring at it. “Faisal?”

“That’s the one,” Robin confirmed, pulling out a paper bag pull of soft pita bread. “Here you go, dig in.”

She’d been careful not to get anything too hard to chew or swallow, and from the way Cormoran ate, she’d been right to do so; he was eating far more hummus than pita, and chewing slowly.

“So what’s the prognosis?” Robin asked as Cormoran seemed about done. She was shocked at how relatively little he’d eaten. Normally he could put away quite a bit, but there was more than half the hummus left, and they’d both been eating.

“Doc says I’ve got to stay in for at least two weeks,” he sighed. “They’ve got me on round-the-clock care, and after my second round of x-rays, it seems I’ve got a hip fracture, too, so they don’t want to move me out of here yet.”

Robin made noises of commiseration and continued eating; her sandwich had been a long time ago.

“But, because of the hip thing,” he went on, “they keep getting me up to move about, because there’s increased chance of blood clots if I don’t, and it’s bloody awful.”

She made an inquisitive sound, but could guess why.

“I’ve only got one bloody leg, haven’t I? And my shoulders are hurt enough that a crutch isn’t even possible yet, and none of the nurses are really tall enough to support me. It’s a regular circus in here when they just want me to walk a fuckin’ lap.”

His brow heavily furrowed, he took a bite of his pita. Robin reached over to wipe a bit of hummus from his beard. At the touch, he looked at her, startled. She carefully finished the motion, wiping her hand on a napkin, and tried not to be embarrassed.

“Was Lucy telling the truth?” he said, unexpectedly.

“Ah- probably?” Robin said. “What about?”

“About you taking me in, after I get out of here,” he said, taking another bite and not looking at her. “She mentioned it to me earlier, and said that she’d be more than happy to have me, but that you’d also offered. Did you?”

“Well, yes,” Robin said. 

“Why?” he asked gruffly. Robin looked at him for a moment.

“I knew you would go mad in your sister’s place,” she said. He nodded. “And it’s easier for me to take the time off to take care of you, since we’ve only got one case left in the docket and I can finish that one on my own easy enough.”

“Just one?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I wrapped up with Mrs. McDowell today, and she’s pleased with what we go on the mister, so that’s done. I’ve billed her already. That just leaves us Mr. Harrell, and I can handle his case fine, it’s only two days a week.”

“Alright,” he said. “But I don’t- you don’t have to take me in, just because we work together, or some such.”

“Cormoran,” Robin said. “Look at me. That’s not why I offered.”

He looked over, and oh, his face- she had a sense that he was trying to hide a great anxiety, and failing. Robin knew he would not show such emotions normally, not to anyone, and chalked it up to the effect of the painkillers.

“I offered because…” _I want to take care of you. I want to keep you always in sight so that this never happens again. I want you to be safe…._ “Because I have the time, and the space, and the energy, and I want to help you. Cormoran, I do.”

He nodded, sharply, and turned away again. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “I really- I appreciate it.”

“Anyway,” Robin said, trying to change the tense atmosphere, “we’re in the business of trying to help people, and I wanted to help Greg.”

“Hmm? Why?” Cormoran asked. Robin smiled as if everything were normal.

“Because I’m sure that after about a week you’d kill him, and that wouldn’t help him or Lucy, now, would it?”

Cormoran gave a great snort of laughter. “No,” he said. “You’re right, it wouldn’t.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, and just as Robin thought he might say something further, one of Cormoran’s monitors beeped.

“Oh, quick, hide the food,” Cormoran said, “the nurse’ll be round in a moment.”

And Robin, scrambling to tuck the leftover hummus into her bag, mourned quietly for the sentence she was sure Cormoran had been about to say.


End file.
